Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(55)

“I don’t make deals.”

“Not a deal. I’ve somehow wronged you, although I can’t understand why. I’ll willingly gift you this secret on a very small condition that you take that poor girl out of the hag’s hut.”

Eamonn paused. “Why would I do that?”

“Because she deserves to be in the castle. She’s lived a tough life, from what I can tell. I’d like to see her pampered.”

“She doesn’t want to be here. I’ve offered her dinner every night in the dining room, and she insists upon eating with that boggart in her house.”

The raven man hoisted himself onto a cabinet, crouching at the much greater height. “Brownie.”

“Excuse me?”

“The boggart is no longer. She’s turned back into a brownie.”

“That’s impossible.” He shook his head. “It’s only rarely done, and a human girl isn’t going to bring a faerie back from the brink of madness.”

“Shows how little you know.” Bran shrugged. “It’s a good secret too. A shame you don’t want to trade for it.”

Eamonn shook his head, brought his elbow down upon a stone soldier tipped onto the floor. The satisfying crack echoed so loudly through his own skull that he saw stars. But it helped. Oh, did it help.

He wanted to break more. To wallow in self-pity that she, of all people, Sunshine had seen his true form. He hadn’t been able to turn around, for fear of what he’d see in her gaze.

Horror? More than likely. When he had been driven from Seelie that was what their expressions had been. Horror that the king wasn’t a man at all.

Beast.

Betrayer.

Secret? His mind drifted towards the tantalizing bit of information Bran held over him. Eamonn, like the rest of his faerie race, had never been able to resist hidden knowledge.

Breathing hard, he glanced over his shoulder. “What kind of secret is it?”

The calculating look in Bran’s raven eye made Eamonn shiver.

Bran leaned forward, hands dangling over his bent knees. “I know her true name.”

Just the mere thought of Sunshine’s name sent him reeling. What would it taste like on his tongue? Likely as distracting as the rest of her. But Eamonn was certain the merest hint would be a droplet of pure honey coating his mouth.

What a deal it was. Moving her from the hag’s hut cost little. There were plenty of available rooms, far away in the depths of the castle. He would have someone placed outside her door, to make sure she didn’t wander where she was unwelcome.

It was insane. Making deals with Unseelie Fae had never ended well for his family. Look at where he was now! And this was the son of the very Unseelie who had cursed their family for all time.

Still… it was her name.

He scratched the crystals on his jaw, pondering the thought. He could do much with a name. He could compel her to leave the island -

No. He would never do that. Could never do that. She was too intriguing, too interesting, far too strange a human to leave. He wouldn’t allow her to wander far from his side, not until he figured her out.

“All I have to do is move her from the hut to the castle?”

Bran leaned forward with a wry grin. “Well, set her up in a nice room at least. I want the girl to be taken care of, not placed on a shelf to gather dust like the rest of your nice things.”

“I can’t promise to take care of her.”

“I didn’t ask for that, she’s capable of protecting herself. She made the swim across the sea to get to you.”

“To get to the isle,” Eamonn corrected. “She didn’t know I existed.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Cloch Rí. She’s been looking for you the whole time, and you’ve been a thorn in her side.”

“She wants me to end a plague.”

“For now. But who knows. If you let her closer, she might want more.”

“Since when do you play matchmaker?”

Bran hopped down from the cabinet, sauntering towards Eamonn on clicking clawed feet. “Do we have a deal?”

Eamonn glanced down at the hand offered. Bran had one human hand, and one beast. He held out the clawed hand, taloned with three fingers like the foot of a raven.

Although his mind screamed he could find out this information on his own, Eamonn reached forward and clasped the talon. For good measure, he dug the crystals of his palm into the leathery flesh. “We have a deal. Now what is her name?”

The wild smile returned to the raven man’s face.

“Sorcha.”



“Sorcha.” The voice whispered on the winds tingled in her mind. It swept through her window and through her hair, tangling in the red strands.

She recognized the voice. It belonged to a terrifying woman. Tall, stately, wild red hair matching her own.

Sorcha leaned out the bedroom window and peered across the moors. Will-o'-the-wisps danced merrily above the bog. The scent of peat moss filled the air, earthen and musty. She wrinkled her nose.

Perhaps she only wanted to hear her name. After seeing Macha’s face in the fountain, she worried the Tuatha dé Danann had more to say. Was her family all right? She had only made a deal for her father, not her sisters. Had the worst happened, and the faerie come to tell her the bad news?